Class 
Book 




Gopyright^^ l<j \ .1 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



DREAMS 
OF YESTERDAY 

BY 

Henry E. Harm an 

M 

AUTHOR OF 

IN PEACEFUL VALLEY 

AT THE GATE OF DREAMS 

IN love's DOMAIN 

GATES OF TWILIGHT 



Publishers 

the state company 

columbia, s. c. 



Copyright, 1911 
)V H. E. Harman 



A 



CI.A3140G4 



To Her 

Who Dreams With Me 

The Golden Dreams of Yesterday 

These Simple Songs 

Are Tenderly Inscribed 



CONTENTS 



Dreams of Yesterday 

8unset .... 

Your Ahseiicc . 

An Old Song . 

What She Brought Me 

An Old Mansion . 

To Einna . 

A Song in the Night 

To a Little Child . 

Manila Bag 

Lovers, You and I . 

Egypt .... 

To an Old Cypress 

Just Longing For You 

My Immortality 

A Carolina Garden 

Pilgrim and Cavalier 

Wood Songs 

The Songs Unsung 

Gray Dawn 

Hallowe'en . 

A Palace in the Pines 

My Hymn . 

The Enchanted Road 

Spring Once More in Carolin 

Silent Vendors 

Two Women . 

Oglethorpe 

Gray Meadows 

Sea and Soul . 

At Tim rod's Grave 

A Plea for Peace . 



PAGE 

1 
3 

7 
8 
9 
10 
11 
12 
14 
15 
16 
17 
19 
20 
21 
22 
23 
25 
29 
30 
31 
32 
33 
35 
37 
38 
40 
43 
44 
46 
47 
50 



W'luil tJic Mdiidolin ^aid 
Pine (iiicl Cloud 
A II (/list Afternoon . 
(\i/iitJiia'S Garden . 
Weep Not For Those 
Has (jone the l^Uent \ 
Long Lost Days 
June .... 
^Vhen ^^e ^haU Meet 
Mufidalene . 
AprU .... 
Memonfs (i'lft . 
Night in the Tropics 
Yellow Jasmine 
Land of ''Somewhere" 
Tlic PciHilfj/ of ^in 
(ill ill J/ *SV'«. . 
Apple Blossoms 
t^arol'uia 

The Youth Seekers- 
Coast of Florida, 



('!J 



PAGE 
53 

55 
56 
57 
59 
60 
60 
61 
66 
67 
69 
69 
71 
72 
74 
76 
78 
79 
83 



A Legend of the East 



89 



DREAMS OF YESTERDAY. 




'^Whilc she drraincd in silent wonder all he)- dreams 
of yesterday — '' 



DREAMS OF YESTERDAY 

Where the sunset glory lingered in the Autumn's 

crimson glow, 
With a glance she swept the meadows, where the 

shadows deeper grow, 
But she did not see the shadows, nor the phantoms 

there at play, 
For her busy soul Avas dreaming all her dreams of 

yesterday. 

Brow of girlhood, once so tender, now all marked 

with lines of care. 
Hand of Time, forever busy, left his print of 

sorrows there; 
Auburn hair, a woman's glory, now bestrewn with 

threads of gray. 
While she dreamed in silent wonder all her dreams 

of yesterday. 

Once again she heard the whisper of a lover at her 

side. 
Once again she felt the blushes maiden shyness 

could not hide; 
Then she closed her eyes in silence, like one bowing 

down to pray, 
Blessing Fate for leaving still her sacred dreams 

of yesterday. 



Mingled with life's sweetest music, woven as a 

silver string, 
Comes an echo, soft and tender, in the lisp of one 

sweet thing : 
And the Mother eyes grow pensive, as they wander 

far away. 
Seeing yet the baby laughter in her dreams of 

yesterday, 

She has lived to golden Autumn, tlirougli Life's 

Spring and Summer time, 
She has weighed tlie joy of living, in its innocence 

and prime; 
She has learned that Love, the Master, sings the 

softest roundelay 
And is fairest of her idols in the dreams of 

vesterdav. 



SUNSET 

My beautiful sun, going out tlirougli the gates of 

the West, 
Going out through the mist covered valleys of 

rest: 
All day, every bloom that bespangled the meadows 

of Spring 
Has wrapped you in love, so close to its odorous 

breast. 

My beautiful sun, like messenger silent and 

still, 
How softly you warm the green bearded wheat on 

the hill : 
No wonder that men, in the long ago, worshipped 

your name 
And bowed in obedience, close to your reverent 

will. 



What lotus-bound shores do you pass in your 

journey of night? 
What valley of dreams do you see in the half 

hidden light? 
What echo of songs, long lost to the mortals who 

weep, 
Lifts soft, as you sail, througli the dream-guarded 

vistas of flight? 




'*/ have watched the red West, where your last 

waning beams glorify 
Each loitcrliK/ cloud' — ^^ 



I wonder what zepliyr-swept coasts, where the red 
poppy grows, 

Thus impelling those dreams of delight each 
mariner knows. 

You touch with your beams, while man in forget- 
fulness dreams : 

What wind of the blest in the path of your jour- 
neying blows? 

Ill 

I have seen you go down where the wondrous West 

was afire. 
And caught your last look from gold-pointed 

cloister spire 
And wonder what dreams you must pass in the 

silence of night, 
As you travel the odorous vales through the land 

of desire. 

I have watched the red West, where your fast 

waning beams glorify 
Each loitering cloud, that sails in indolence by, 
And have asked the first star, if the secrets you 

keep he could tell. 
But the star twinkles on, too happy to make me 

reply. 



IV 

My beautiful sun, like a curfew of silence you call, 

From field and from mart, your manifold chil- 
dren, all 

Who roam in your light, but in shade and dim 
shadows take fright, 

And seek the home nest, ere the phantoms of 
darkness shall fall. 

I've seen in the meadow the Summer bird busy all 
day. 

Forgetful of mate in joy of self-pleasing lay. 

Who, missing the light, in the stealthy approach 
of the night. 

Turned song into search and joy into sudden 
dismay. 



Good-night, sweet sun, going out through the 

gates of the AVest; 
I, too, some da}- shall iiass through the portals of 

rest. 
And like you go out, to the mystical land of the 

night, 
Like you, on the Morrow, awake for Eternity's 

quest. 



YOUR ABSENCE 

The cherry trees have bloomed again since last 

you went away 
But I am weary and have missed your presence 

just as they; 
I walk among our garden things and tell tliem 

you'll return, 
Thougli, as I softly lisp your name, the words with 

sorroAV burn. 

The datfodils came back on time, with cups all full 

of gold, 
Yet did not bring the thrill of joy they brought in 

days of old, 
And well I know, along the hedge, where they are 

wont to grow. 
They miss the step and welcome smile of one who 

loves them so. 



rose lane, 
And busy thrush is singing too, but in a minor 

strain ; 
I did not know how much your voice was woven 

in the lay 
Of every blessed bird of ours, until you went 

away. 



I wisli for Avords as many as the leaves upon tlie 

trees 
And words as sweet as meadow blooms that lure 

the crafty bees 
That I could tell you, o'er the miles that separate 

us far, 
How all the glories of the Spring- are asking where 

you are. 



AN OLD SONG 

Her wistful glances swept the golden West, 

Where Day had laid to rest 
His sweet-faced dreams, entrusting to the Night 

These children of the light. 

She turned about, within the dim-lit room, 

Holy with twilight bloom; 
Then in the stillness sung an olden tune 

From Youth's forgotten June. 

Without I listened to the words that fell 

Like magic-woven spell : 
And some one opened wide the palace gates 

Where Love, the Master, waits. 



WHAT SHE BROUGHT MB 

Soft tenderness from eyes that never frown, 
But charm with pleading as they look away, 
Whose gaze bestows me with a royal crown 
Yet makes me serf within their range of gray. 

A holy presence; when she moved abont 
The room or garden somehow Gladness bent 
And gilded all the landscape in and out 
And made me worship like a penitent. 

At eventide when she was wont to sing 
A touch of Heaven hung about the room, 
A symphony, like some immortal thing 
In all the mystic gloaming seemed to bloom. 

And in the night time, when she knelt to pray 
And bowed her head upon the table tliere. 
Then every doubt within me passed away. 
She and her God to me alone were fair. 

What did she bring? Ask at the golden gate 
What Heaven brings to those who enter in : 
She brought the best that comes to those who wait : 
She brought me Love, to God the nearest kin. 



AN OLD MANSION 

Back from the river's creeping tide 
It stands among the silent pines. 

Beyond are meadows, stretching wide: 
O'er all the Autumn sunlight shines. 

Gray chimneys lift above the trees 
That coming guest might see from far 

They bid a welcome as he sees 

The mansion's friendly gates unbar. 

Here lives a spirit of the past 
That nevermore sliall live again, 

A picture that is fading fast 
Through Time's relenting rain. 

The master who was ruler here 

Now sleeps beneath yon cypress trees, 

Upon whose branches, old and sere. 
The gray moss sadly grieves. 



f 



10 



TO EINNA 

Einna, the years have slowly crept, 

As we Love's secret kept; 

Each blessed Spring, with rose and rue, 
Has brought its scented thoughts of you, 

While Pity with me wept. 

The Autumns pass in crimson haze. 

With Sumacs all ablaze; 

Bleak Winter, with its fields of snow 
Leaves weary hearts, then turns to go, 

While your sweet memory stays. 

Ah bless the day when first we met. 

One day beyond regret — 

When Love the Master, soft and true, 
His dearest secret told to you — 

I hear his whisper yet. 

No matter if the hand of Fate 

Between us closed the gate ; 

The lilac blooms are sweeter far 
Because of you; and every star 
Guards Mem'ry's doorway, half ajar, 

Where I, contented, wait. 



11 



A SONG IN THE NIGHT 



A weird, sweet gloom, the perfumed Southern night 

Envelope hill and vale, 
While far away, upon a sea of light, 

Star-craft in wonder sail. 

Along the hedgerow crimson poppies blaze 

Into red passion's fire, 
The primrose lifts its cup in purple haze 

Filled with the night's desire. 

So tense the silence, so profound its peace 

That where the zephyrs went 
Their noiseless feet the tangled vines release 

In loving wonderment. 

A clump of myrtles bloomed along the hill. 

One strange bouquet of white, 
These, with the moon and starlight, seemed to fill 

The mystery of night. 

night of silence, slumber of the soul 

Of eager, restless day, 

1 marvel not yon bird could not withhold 

Its love-impassioned lay. 



12 



II 

Somehow the slender bauds of sleep 

Untangled as I heard 
Faint echoes through my window creep 
Of singing mockiug-bird. 

I leaned without the casement far 
To hear each love-spent note: 

Then some one left the gates ajar 

Through which old mem'ries float. 

Ill 

The years slipped back to other days, 
Each bar of song was twined about 
With one lost face, within whose gaze 
Old dreams and hopes went out. 

The years slipped back, I knew not how, 
I only knew I heard a song : 
Then thought of some one's spoken vow 
And knew that love is strong. 

I wondered not that tears sliould fall; 
Who would not sadly weep as I 
Should some one from the hedgerow call 
Who long has dwelt on high? 



13 



TO A LITTLE CHILD 

Dear Innocence, by sin yet undefiled, 

Dear eyes of wonderment, 
I look along your pathway, rough and wild, 

With sun and shadow blent : 
Dear untried feet, tender and soft and white, 

Dear hands without a scar, 
How my strong love would hold you in its might 

And keep you as you are. 

Alas, I know the pitfalls that await 

Your dear untravelled feet, 
What sins shall snare, beyond sweet Childhood's 
gate 

Where will and duty meet: 
I know the heart-aches that will fill your soul. 

The bitter draught of sin. 
The broken idols, you must chance behold, 

Before the journey's end. 

Dear Innocence, if I could walk ahead, 

Along your untried way 
And feel its cutting stones and thorns instead 

Of you, from day to day; 
How I would shield you witli my circling arms 

And wall you round about, 
My wishes guard, like some mysterious charm. 

Your going in and out! 



14 



MANILA BAY 



Along the gray New England hills, 
Along the Hudson's valley wide, 
The sight of Spring's awaking thrills 
The Summer's coming tide : 

Through Sunny Dixie's fields of green 
And where the Western rivers flow. 
The blossoms of the May are seen 
Nodding, while soft winds blow: 

When sullen, through the stillness of the day, 
Came with the peace and silence of the May 
Weird sound of Dewey's guns from far Manila Bay. 



The sound disturbed the peace of tropic lands. 
It loosed the chain made fast by tyrant hands. 
And to oppression, like the ages old, 
It came as when the knell of death is tolled. 

Ill 

Across the wide Pacific wastes it flew, 
Benighted hearts that heard its whisper knew 
That Freedom wider still her banners threw 
And planted Hope where Desolation grew. 



15 



IV 

Along the street in Freedom's blessed land 

Men wept and smiled and clasped the trembling 

hand ; 
In empty homes, where wife or mother prated 
For absent ones, some conscious touch allayed 
Old fright and dread; for Hope bloomed like the 

May, 
When Dewey's ships sailed in Manila Bay, 



LOVERS, YOU AND I 

The moonlight slept upon the water's breast. 
The June grass reached unto the water's edge. 
While shadow-clouds sped like a soul's unrest 
Across the lake. Beside the perfumed hedge 
Like timid child, you stole with me along 
The myrtle path, where Love had never been : 
And when I pressed your hand a night bird's son< 
Frightened you so, as if forbidden sin 
Had claimed your soul, when lovers, you and I, 
Were making joy, for which all others sigh. 



16 



EGYPT 

Thou patriarch of nations, wrinkled, gray, 
Crouching beside thy well beloved Nile, 
I marvel not the hand of Doom sliould lay 
So heavy as to hide thy ancient smile. 

If every grain of sand along thy shore 
Measured a cycle of a thousand years, 
Counting them all, thy age would still be more, 
Tlieir measured grief would scarce be half thy 
tears. 

Thy watch-dog Sphynxes on the desert stand, 
Invisible the flocks of ghosts they keep; 
Their grief as boundless as the endless sand 
That stretches far beyond the vision's sweep. 

Grim land of mummies, where the hot winds creep. 
Desert of lip-closed secrets of all years, 
Thy crimes have hardened clouds that cannot weep 
And crushed thee far beyond the flow of tears. 

If thy sad Nile no pity for thee kept 
And brought no blessings from the mountain side, 
Thy woes, alas, would then be doubly wept 
And Desolation all thy visage hide! 

Ghost of the past : Mother of fallen Pride, 
Keeper of groans the keenest suffering knows. 
Stretch far thy sands and let the desert hide 
Thy crimes and grief, perchance to ease thy woes. 



17 




'Oray remnant of the cruel years,' 



TO AN OLD CYPRESS 

Gray remnant of the cruel years, 
Aged vassal of the winds that blow! 
The measure of your unwept tears, 
The measure of your nameless fears 
Would fill the stoutest heart with woe. 

Lifting your unprotected head 
Within the fury of the rain. 
Mocking the storms that o'er you tread 
Mocking the ills that mortals dread, 
You scoff at awe and pain. 

The winds have wearied of their rage 
To wrest you from the mountain side : 
Of faith you keep the heritage 
Which valor gives to noble age : 
Amid the wrecks you still abide. 

How bitter was the Winter's cold ! 

How fierce the winds that round you swept. 

These secrets you will not unfold, 

Their story will remain untold : 

These safely in your soul are kept. 

Stand out, gray cypress, let men see 
Your form against the firmament; 
For Courage make your silent plea, 
Teach us your creed, O noble tree, 
Lift high your own gray monument. 



19 



JUST LONGING FOR YOU 

I 
I cannot tell yon through the many miles that 

intervene, 
Across the many leagues of sea that sadly lie 

between, 
How my poor longings stretch away beyond the 

distant view — 
Like pleading liands of penitent, just wishing for 

you. 



Our Southern skies are just as blue as they have 

always been. 
Our Summer fields are just as fair and flower- 

hued; but then 
When I look up to watch the stars, as we were 

wont to do 
When you were here, ah how I plead, just longing 

for you. 

Ill 

I walk among the flowering things, out in our 

garden fair. 
And linger, watching rose and vine weave glory 

everywliere, 
I stoop and kiss tlie glossy leaves just as you used 

to do — 
Tlien all the blossoms weep with me, just longing 

for vou. 



20 



MY IMMORTALITY 

I 
It matters not how cold the grave may be, 
Nor yet how far the stretch of vast eternity : 
It matters not how dark Oblivion's pall 
Upon the memory of me may sternly fall, 
If she and I, at last, together sleep 
In one small grave so dark, so still, so deep; 
For that old love, Avhich bless'd our human day 
Would live and thrill beneath Death's sodden clay. 



It matters not what other shores may wait 
My feet beyond : or what relentless Fate 
Shall there decree, of happiness or woe — 
If cycles swiftly speed or slowly go : — 
If she may walk those hidden shores with me 
As here — then all the vastness of eternity 
Will satisfy. But should I miss her there 
Then Paradise itself would mean despair. 

Ill 
Above all else, dear God, I hold this prize 
Of love that looks through wistful human eyes : 
Above all else in life it means to me— 
Wealth, lands and home; and even Destiny 
For it I'd dare: — so Thou wilt not deny 
My right to cherish and, as well, to die 
For Thy great gift — meaning far more than all 
Thy other blessings, which to mortals fall. 



21 



A CAROLINA GARDEN 

Larkspur, hollyhocks and the constant phlox 

Blossom along the wall. 
Outside whose gate the hand of some one knocks 

And unseen footsteps fall. 

Down yonder path gray pinks and asters meet 

Where foxgloves mix about : 
The rose vine climbs upon the wall to greet 

The daisy blooms without. 

All day gardenias and the jasmine vine 

Distill and scent the air 
With odors that the blessed past entwine 

With one no longer there. 

Within a clump of old mock orange trees, 

Which to the past belong, 
The wild thrush sings a minor note and weaves 

A sadness to his song. 

Garden of mem'ries where the past is kept 

Afresh with bloom and vine. 
For her you leave no blessed day unwept: 

Each blossom is her shrine. 



22 



PILGRIM AND CAVALIER 



The Pilgrim knelt upon the rock-bound coast, 

Lifting his voice in prayer; 
From him the stillness heard no vaunting boast 

His coming to declare — 
For in his soul the peace of reason glowed 

And blessed his new abode. 



The Cavalier from far Castilian shore 
Bestrode you tropic beach, 

Athirst for land and all its golden store 
Seeming within his reach : 

No mercy his, but only greed and quest 
His mission in the West. 



The tardy years grind slowly but repay 

The right and wrong of man : 
Where Pilgrim built upon the coast of gray 

His children now command ; 
But all the coasts of Yucatan display 

Spain's glory in decay. 



23 




''Each friendly pinr .stdiid-s as a scutlncl^' 



WOOD SONGS 

This is God's cliiirch ; as wide and broad and free 
As those great lessons that are taught herein; 
No pent up wall of mortar, mixed with sin, 
Denotes one spot where man shall bow the knee; 
But outAvard, onward, vast as is the sky 
And outward, onward, vaster than the sea 
This church extends, that man may ever be 
On sacred soil, his God to glorify! 

Each friendly pine stands as a sentinel, 
Lifting aloft its canopy of green. 
To shield the worshipper who kneels between 
And to the stars his simple message tell. 
Herein the Master teaches. Those who know 
And understand his language in the breeze. 
Who fellowship can claim with friendly trees, 
May hear his whisper in the winds that blow. 

Here, where the lifted branches intertwine 
To canopy a nook surpassing fair. 
Closed to the summer sunlight's outer glare 
The tireless thrush, in silver notes define 
How sweet Content and Joy go hand in hand; 
While just beyond, the mocking-bird, perched high. 
Where he can see both smiling world and sky. 
Proclaims his creed, which all can understand. 



25 




"I asked the brook to rod it n-ith )ue a while" 



I pity him who never yet has known 

Thy peace and solace, faithful woods, nor seen 

The pictured beauty of thy shade and sheen, 

Nor caught the music by thy soft winds blown, 

I pity him, who never yet has heard 

God's low, sweet whisper in this plenteous shade. 

Whose soul of guilt upon the altar laid 

Finds pardon for the ways wherein he err'd. 

Here I have watched the sun paint red tlie West, 
Leaving the picture of some undefined 
Glory that man lias sought for and repined. 
Because it lifted far beyond his quest, 
Yet, had he looked about the silent wood, 
And listened to the soft sweet notes that strayed 
From every hushed and leaf embowered shade. 
The peace of God would find, just where he stood. 

Come here, my soul, and let us talk alone : 
These beechen trees shall be our sentinels. 
To guard the secret that each other tells; 
Come, let us reap the fields where we have sown. 
Where we have sinned we bow, and here confess; 
Where we have wronged, our gains we now restore ; 
If we have hurt, forgiveness we implore; 
Out of the past to holier ways we press. 



27 



Adown this sun-kissed vale wiiicli runs along 
The slanting hills, with singing brook between, 
A thousand dew-wet blooming things are seen — 
A thousand birds rehearse some sweet old song; 
And where the deeper woodland shadows lie. 
Back, where the chestnuts grow so rank and tall, 
There one can hear the better echoes call 
And feel new peace as clear as yonder sky. 

I asked the brook to wait with me a while 

Here, where the Spring was bursting into flower 

Just be a laggard for one lazy hour. 

But he passed on with well contented smile: 

"I haste away, to where the meadows wide. 

Fringe all my banks with buttercups, and vine 

And yellow jasmines o'er me intertwine; 

To where awaits the ocean's welcome tide." 

Again I met this happy singing brook 
Down where the beeches hedge its shores about 
And where the bramble vines ran in and out 
Singing along, with more expectant look: 
"I cannot wait, the South is calling me, 
Tomorrow I shall kiss the blue-bells rare 
That dip their heads upon my bosom there, 
Then I shall haste to join the waiting sea." 



28 



^'N'lio has not learned to leave the world aside 
And sometimes worship in this chapel dim, 
Has yet to listen to that mystic hymn 
Which Lethe sings for those who here abide. 
Who has not learned to reckon here alone 
With self and sin and computation make 
Of life's few years, will never rouse nor wake 
To Duty's call, until her call is gone. 



THE SONGS UNSUNG 

The poet sings his myrtle scented song; 
Its echoes tremble down the dateless years; 
Men hear and whistle, as they pass along, 
Forgetful of life's worries and its cares. 

The poet dies, leaving, alas ! unsung 
His sweetest lay. The words of burnished gold 
Were in his heart but there, unspoken, clung; 
The lips could not his meaning half unfold. 

The poet sleeps, taking into his grave, 
The melodies he heard but could not tell; 
The sweetest notes he to his fellows gave 
Were faint to those which in his crypt shall dwell. 



29 



GRAY DAWN 

The city sleeps! Like monster, many-eyed, 
Its heart throbs slow, within the gray of dawn, 
Too weary now for laughter or a yawn : 
This is the ebb-flow of its human tide. 

The last gay reveller now seeks repose 
Upon a couch, where old Regret will be 
Companion and as restless tliere as he; 
Paying the tribute sullen Fates impose. 

Crime hurries past : the day is not for him. 
Save to forget, in morbid slumber, all 
His ill-wrouglit deeds, which in his dreaming call 
Aloud for penance, through his chamber dim. 

She, of the crimson world, no longer seeks 
Her timid victims through the lanes of night : 
The gray of dawn awakens sudden fright 
Within her soul, where weeping Conscience speaks. 

The mass bells toll. A priest with cross and scroll 
Seeks yonder cloister, with its incense sweet. 
Where Guilt his weird confessions will repeat. 
And ask a pardon for his weary soul. 

Through mists of gloom a worker's hasty tread 
Breaks the dim silence, going forth to spin, 
That bread may bless his home and tliose within : 
And now the sleeper wakes: the East is red. 



30 



HALLOWE'EN 

O HalloweVu ! sweet Hallowe'en ! 
How mystic phantoms and the sheen 
Of dimly fading years are seen 

Far down the dreamer's way. 
As children, in the days of yore, 
We fain would look behind the door 
Of Time and read prophetic lore, 

E'en as we do today! 

O Hallowe'en ! dear Hallowe'en I 
A tender face comes back serene 
And mem'ries from the window lean 

To catch its look once more; 
All ! merry sparkle of lier eyes, 
A maiden's blush, a maiden's sighs : 
Only their echoes now arise 

From Time's mysterious shore. 

O Hallowe'en! dear Hallowe'en, 
You lift sweet fancies yet between 
The Now and Yesterdays, as clean 

As lilies of the May; 
Come yet when Autumn glories spread 
Their Sumac colors overhead 
To bless the spot where sleep our dead 

And tell us what they say. 



31 



A PALACE IN THE PINES 

Hidden among the whispering pines I found, 

Far from the haunts of man, 
A lowly cot, where silences abound. 

Save fluted notes of Pan. 

Here, all day long, his reed beguiled tlie leaves 

Which tangle overhead, 
Like phantom song some lonely Echo weaves 

For Dryads when they wed. 

But every note that waked the meadows far 

Was soothed by Love's caress. 
And rose, like incense, to each waiting star. 

Its gladness to confess. 

Day wore her smile: the sunbeams flooded all 

The wooded aisles with light; 
Tlien Silence brooded, save where niglit-birds call 

Aroused the sylvan Night. 

Witliin the cot lean Poverty was guest 

And cast his shadow there; 
But those who passed him, in and out, were bless'd. 

For Love made all tilings Fair. 

The scanty bread and newly vintaged wine 

By unseen hand increas'd, 
For sweet Content lier benedictions twine 

Where Love sits at the feast. 



32 



MY HYMN 

Dark-visaged Storm, break all thy pent-up wrath 
Where furled seas sweep o'er their trackless path ! 

Peal, Thunders, peal, 

AVith death-exacting- zeal; 
Then fall, Sweet Peace, as Fury's aftermath, 
That you may teach the Master's mighty hand 
And bid us understand 
What pow'r, to rise and rule, the Master hath. 

Come, Spring, sweet Spring, and star the meadows 

wide 
With thy rare blossoms. And where shadows hide 

Along the edge 

Of woodland's weedy hedge, 
There teach thy pale forget-me-nots abide. 
Then from these blooms their odors scatter far. 
Unto yon gates ajar. 
Through which God calls to glory's further side. 

Paint all the West, dear sunset hour of rest. 
Where daylight's jewels linger as thy guest! 

Hush! listen there 

When all the world is fair 
And silence thrills the soul in every breast; 
Then Peace shall whisper in some sweet old hymn 
Within the twilight dim: 
Lo! him who listens shall the Master bless. 



33 




With iiir she valkcd tliis ixitlnrai/ of <Ir]}(/hf 



THE ENCHANTED EOAD 

Where silent piues guard well its course between 

The shy arbutus vines, 
With canopy overhead of lacy green, 

Til' enchanted roadway twines. 

With me she walked this pathway of delight. 

Blessing its sands of gold, 
When youth and joy and springtime all unite 

Love's glory to unfold. 

Long since she walks beside a fairer shore 

Where roses never fade, 
And sacred is the road forevermore 

By her sweet presence made. 

With careless feet, along its raiu-Avashed sands 

Men, passing in and out, 
Go day by day, nor see tlie pleading hands 

That beckon there about; 

Nor liear the whisper in the grief-swept trees 

That meeting overhead, 
Embrace, like some one, who in silence grieves 

For its beloved dead. 



35 



¥^ 




^Spring once more in Carolina! Song and sunshine 
everyioherc/' 



SPRING ONCE MORE IN CAROLINA 

Spring once more in Carolina! song and sunshine 

everywhere, 
Odors from the daisied meadows every wakened 

sense ensnare, 
Gladness smiles from every hill-top on a world 
so fair. 

Spring once more in Carolina! every leafy hedge 

is bent 
With the clustered weight of blossoms by the 

Summer lent. 
Over all the field and forest hangs a sweet content. 

Spring once more in Carolina ! I can hear the blue- 
bird's call, 

Like a whisper from my childhood, and its echoes 
all 

Lift from out the years forgotten shadows gaunt 
and tall. 

There I know the thrush is hidden, deep within 

each scented lane. 
And his song of silver vintage thrills like some 

enchanted strain; 
There the mocking-bird is busy with his art again. 

Spring once more in Carolina! Twilight glory in 

the West, 
Sunset blazons all the landscape, like the islands 

of the blest, 
Every hill-top smiles contented, beckoning to rest. 

37 



Spring once more in Carolina ! song and incense 

everywliere, 
While I liold this mem'ry of you all the world is 

fair, 
For the untried dreams of childhood all awakened 

there. 

SILENT VENDOES 

I 
As first gray light of early Springtime broke 
Across my lawn, the call of flower-folk, 
Vending their wares, the night-pent silence woke : 
"Come, buy my cups of gold, 
Come, buy my cups of white, 
Within each chaliced bowl 
Some dream was born last night : 
"Come, buy my cups of gold, weird fancy each one 

fills :" 
Thus went the cry, across the wold, from all my 
daffodils. 

II 
Down where the hedge and brambles intertwine 
A sweet wisteria trails its leafless vine 
Upon the wall, waving its plumes divine: — 
"Come, buy my plumes of white. 
Come, buy my plumes of blue — 
Born of the virgin light 
The early Spring days brew: 
"In shades to match the sky, or sky and snow 

combine," 
Thus went the tender, pleading cry from sweet 
wisteria vine. 

38 



Ill 

Here, where the Avarmest April sun rays fall 

Against the ivy-covered garden wall, 

In scarlet glory hear the tulips call : 

"Whose lips are red with Passion's wine, 
Who thrills at glance of drooj^ing eyes, 
Come, buy these crimson cups of mine, 
All filled Avith lover's sighs, 

''Each bowl is fringed with silken rim 

And filled with gladness to its brim." 

IV 

And thus througliout the Spring-enameled day 
The blossoms plead, while from the meadow gray, 
Love's echo calls as wistfully as they: 

"Who pensive walks, who sadly waits 
Another day, through sleepless night. 
Come, buy of me and I will light 
Your pathway up to Eapture's gates: 
"No cure for grief has yet been found. 
Like that which in my wares abound." 

And when Love's echo thus had said 
Each blossom vendor bowed her head: — 
"Ah what are colors, rich and rare," 
They whispered, "when Love's golden snare. 
With our poor gifts, vain men compare." 

VI 

And yet from out the gray kissed dawn. 
These wistful vendors call and sing — 
Each sends its perfume down the lawn 
To greet the coming of the Spring. 

39 



TWO WOMEN 

I 

The Christmas night was cold: 

'Twixt earth and sky snow's blooms in mnltitnde 

Fell fast, as gift of Fate's ingratitude, 

Alike on ricli and poor, relentless, damp and rude; 

Each flake the storm foretold. 

The flicker'd gleams of light 

Flashed through tlie storm from out the house of 

mirth. 
Where Joy had come to celebrate the birth 
Of Song: and giddy Fashion sat beside its hearth 
Of show, this op'ning night. 

Passing the gilt-stained door 
A petted queen of fortune, wealth and pride. 
Bejewelled, sought the mirth and warmtli inside: 
While just without, lonely amid the snowy tide, 
Went sister of the poor. 

Their far-spent glances met: 

She, of the dazzling world, looked back with scorn. 
Upon the piteous one, whose pale face, worn, 
Cast but a wistful glance, then pass'd along, 

forlorn. 
Into her world, Regret. 



40 



Into her world, Kegret! 

For thus she thought the meagre life of hers, 

From which Fate every envied gift deters: 

And yet she had Content and Love, which God 

confers. 
Safe, like an amulet. 

Hers was a cottage fair, 

Beside whose hearthstone when the siren's call 
Within whose door, when twilight shadows fall, 
Together Peace, Content and Gladness gather, all, 
For Love was master there. 

II 
The storm-swept night had waned: 
'Twixt earth and sky snow's blooms, in multitude, 
Still fell, as gift of Fate's ingratitude. 
Alike on rich and poor, relentless, damp and rude: 
Revel's last cup is drained. 

A palace welcome shields 

The queen of Fortune in its walls of white 

From Winter's cold without. There, warmth and 

light 
Give ease ; but Envy, Hate upon the ceilings write 
A grief to which she yields. 

For, in this mansion fair 

No sirens call beside the hearthstone glow — 

No face of Joy here rises up to show 

Its welcome, and the dreary hours, like eons, go — 

For Love is missing there. 

41 




"'Each tall Paliiictto, Ivaiiinij from the shore. 



OGLETHORPE 

On the uuveiling of the memorial to his memory in Savan- 
nah, Georgia, November, 1010. 

At last the centuries' slow, mysterious tread 

Bring lionor to the dead. 
And Time, forgetting not his valor, grieves 

And crown of laurel weaves. 

The marble long has slept within its tomb. 

Hidden in silent gloom, 
But now it lifts its plaudits to the sky 

For every passer by. 

The tardy years were slow to place his name 

On obelisk of fame. 
But justice has her faithful memory kept 

While men, forgetting, slept. 

Yon waves that Avash the broken shore-line dim 

Still sing his requiem; 
While slow Savannah's tide that passes by 

Remembers with a sigh. 

Each tall Palmetto, leaning from the shore. 

Looking the sea line o'er. 
Holds tender memories of his name and weaves 

A garland of its leaves. 

This marble shaft now rises to command 

That men may understand 
How Virtue gives her sure reward at last 

In measure full and vast. 

43 



GRAY MEADOWS 

To-nigbt her face came back again, her eyes with 

old desire 
As once they shone with all the glow of youth and 

passion's fire : 
And something touched an unused chord upon 

Loye's sleeping \yve. 

My room became a forest wide, where tall cathedral 
pines 

Let down the rifts of purple light through fes- 
tooned smilax yines : 

From out my hearthstone's dying flame a ghost of 
Eden shines. 

There, in the lustre of her face, were tints of far- 
off skies 

That bent aboye that other world of dream-swept 
memories, 

Where young Loye walks and all the perfumed 
roadway glorifies. 

II 

Why did you come? to waken old regret and bruise 

again 
The half-healed wounds; and start once more the 

pain 
That Memory tried so long to hide in yain? 



44 



Did wakened dreams of that sweet-scented, far-off 

matchless June 
Through which Love wove his pleading dryad tune 
Arouse your steps, your coming importune? 

Ill 

Behold, the meadows now are gray, all summer 

blooms are dead, 
The thrush's golden song is hushed, the hedge-row 

leaves are red. 
Behold, the dreams of youtli are gone, Love's 

cherished hopes are fled. 

IV 

Your wistful eyes I saw again from out the past 

to-night 
Looked soft and tender, as of old, but somehow 

seemed to smite 
My soul with some unmentioned dread and that 

uupitying friglit, 

Which first I knew when Fate decreed, with all his 

quenchless ire, 
That you and I should walk apart, despite our 

one desire — 
And each receive from his cold hand a toiler's 

scanty hire. 



45 



That pittance KSiiiall, which 

each must wall^: alone, 
Walled from the touch of quivering hand young 

Love once called its own, 
Walking the silent meadows gray — where Hope's 

dead leaves are blown. 

V 

Gray meadows stretch their bloomless sedge 

between the wind-swept hills, 
Beneath the whitened grasses sleep the dreaming 

daffodils, 
Perhaps, in some far, waiting June Love's own 

fruition thrills! 



SEA AND SOUL 

Flood tide and storm, the angry billows leap 

O'er the unfathomed deep: 
Low tide and calm, the peaceful waters lie 

As still as yonder sky ! 

Grief-stricken soul, wild frenzied as the sea 

In its immensity : 
The measure of content in peaceful sleep 

The soul's wide boundaries keep. 

Two mysteries of God beyond compute, 

Where Learning's lips are mute : 
The sea and soul, whose moods for ill or good 

No age has understood. 



46 



AT TIMROD'S GRAVE 



Sleep must be sweet to one who lived as he, 

Knowing that Destiny 
Would batlie his tomb with love-begotten tears 

Through all the dateless years. 

Rest, poet, thou who through the ills of men 

Saw fellowship and kin 
With life immortal, calling from afar. 

Beyond Time's distant star! 



Death placed her hand upon his arm 
And turning to him gently said : 
'Come walk with me and fear no harm, 
We go where He has led. 

'So long as blossoms greet the spring 
And autumn scars the woods with red, 
To me shall man this tribute bring: 
His hopes to sacrifice be led. 

'But you have won the golden grain 
And garnered from the world its best, 
I see upon your hands no stain 
Of Sin: Behold yon gates of rest!" 



47 



Ill 

And as they went his clear-eyed vision saw 
The golden spires that glitter from the far 
Sweet meadow-ways of Paradise; the law 
Of recompense left yon white gates ajar. 

And as they went sweet echoes, weird and low, 
Such as liad haunted all his earthly years, 
Upon each passing zephyr drifted slow 
Till Joy beguiled his first immortal tears. 

IV 

Man's paltry life goes out like meteor stain 
Left for a moment on the silent sky: 
The summers pass with sun and golden rain : 

nor reasons why. 

Not so the singer; when he sleeps serene 
Within the folded arms of Mother earth 
His songs shall rise and with their voices clean, 
To Gladness, in a thousand hearts give birth. 

V 

No more the Spring for him will weave 

Its mantel of celestial things: 
No more the Thrush for him will grieve 

At daylight when she sings. 



48 



But somewhere, under friendly skies, 

Eternal Summer holds his feet 
And wakens lustre in his eyes. 

Where all his dreams shall meet. 

VI 

Methinks the wind that sighs about his tomb, 

Amid the night's cold gloom, 
Utters the grief of some inhuman thing 

For one who used to sing. 

And yonder clouds that shed their April rain, 

Like tears of mortal pain, 
Mourn now for him, who loved the clouds and sky 

And weep while passing by. 

VII 

Tread softly, you, who pass this lowly mound. 
Weep not, but smile for one who sleeps within; 
For one who was unto immortals kin ; 
Tread softly now, for this is sacred gi'oundl 

Nor war, nor statesmen have your honor won 
Greater than he, O Carolina, mine; 
Men chant his songs wherever stars may shine : 
Guard well this spot, lest you forget your son ! 



49 



A PLEA FOR PEACE 

I 

I stood l)eside the furuace, Avliere the guns of war 

are cast, 
I saw the sweated workmen bend above their 

heavy task 
To forge the arms, that take sweet life and wet 

the orphan's e3^e, 
Tliat 'gender Hate and Dread and cause sweet 

womanhood to cry. 

We send to lieathen lands and teach benighted 

men to pray. 
Then school our sons in arts of war and kill far 

more than they, 
Lavish we spend to keep our arms upon the land 

and sea, 
But raise no hand to ease the load that rests on 

poverty. 

God of the mighty and the low, are we benighted 

yet, 

That in this age of thoughtful men, we love the 

bloody sweat 
Of those who weld the arms of war better than 

arts of peace? 
Shall women work and children cry, while man 

sives no release? 



50 



Come, 'null the laws that deal with war, let every 

nation pledge 
A world-encircling peace, which holds its people 

as a hedge : 
Come, turn the dreadnoughts into ships that 

plough the sea for bread; 
Come, turn the armies into men whose feet the 

wine press tread. 

Far better that those sweated men should till the 
fields of corn 

Than forge the wares, whose mission is to foster 
grief and scorn: 

Better the navies be dispersed, our armies trained 
for toil, 

Better the poppy-crimsoned field than blood em- 
purpled soil. 

II 

Speak, England, with thy master slogan, speak. 
And all the world will listen. Even now 
Thy peasants murmur and thy workmen seek 
Relief from yoke of war, to which you bow. 

And thou, America, where Freedom dwells. 
Obey the pleading that disturbs thy sleep: 
Each hungry child the coming tumult tells : 
Act now; 'tis better than to wake and weep. 



51 



Thou Father-land, whose war-betroddeu soil 
Scarce yields the grain sufficient for thy needs 
On land and sea, look how thy peasants toil 
To pay the debts made by thy war-spent creeds. 

Cold Russia, heavy-hearted with thy woes 
Of war and poverty and discontent, 
Look thou, and see the day, wlien all thy foes 
Are friends, to aid in thy vast government. 

Thou nations strong, join hands across the seas. 
Thy wedded compact every land shall know: 
To Age of Peace thy counsel holds the key, 
Speak now and Mars has struck his last red blow. 

Ill 
Then, from each valley, where the waters flow 
From every hill top, where the sun rays fall 
The song of freedom, like a hymn will go 
And Gladness from each throbbing heart will call. 

Then, little children in their dreams will smile 
And lustre come to eyes of womanhood: 
Old Awe and Dread no more the home defile. 
The Age of Peace, at last, be understood. 

IV 

Ye men, who rule in council halls of State 
Heed now the plea, that rises from afar. 
Heed thou the callings, in whose voices are 
Mingled old griefs, regTet, the blood and scar 
Of battles past, the dread of pending war: 

The Goddess Peace knocks at your outer gate : 

Why, longer must she wait? 

52 



WHAT THE MANDOLIN SAID 

Out of a Past wliere Mem'ry keeps 

Her cherished things and weeps 
I list and hear, when the grate is red, 
And phantom folk in the gloaming tread 
To the words her mandolin said. 

A pine tree lifts its branches high 

In pleading to the sky : 
The yellow blooms of the jasmine vine 
Like lamps swing low and somehow twine 

About her words and heart of mine. 

Her dainty fingers touched the strings: 

Then melody of things 
Lute-like and musical and sweet 
Beneath the pine tree seemed to meet 

Where Love's own harvest was complete. 

In every note the moonlight swayed : 

At touch her fingers made 
Upon the strings old loves seemed wed 
As when one through a dream is led. 

At the words her mandolin said. 

The lute-like notes brought back again 

White spray of April rain: 
And dew-wet lilacs scent the air 
Once more, as when she blessed them there; 

Ah ! mandolin and golden hair. 



53 




"I lift my storm-swept head so high. 



PINE AND CLOUD 

I lift my storm-swept head so high 
Towards the blue of yonder sky 
That every winsome cloud that goes 

Smiles down in passing by, 
And hither tender kisses throws 

With lover's sob and sigh. 

I know these fickle clouds that pass 
Above my head from day to day ; 

They smile at other pines, alas! 
That dwell along their way. 

E'en those, demure as nuns at mass, 
The vagrant clouds inveigli. 

The cloud is wanderer at will. 
Passing above new lands each hour; 
Lol now his shadow sweeps the hill. 

Now shades the meadow flower : 
With Love and Fancy's dreams to thrill 

Is part of his sweet dower. 

At dawn he kissed the tropic sea. 
When fisher boats had deftly spread 
Their sails for quest: And forthwith he 

Across the Palm groves sped ; 
Telling his loves to every tree, 

Though none he chose to wed. 



55 



At noon he passed the clover fields 
And softly touched them with his wing, 
Catching the scent each blossom yields, 

Sweet tribute for a king: 
At even-tide, alone, he steals 

Away, where Elfins sing. 

But through tlie storm, amid the rain. 
What time men sadly sow and reap, 
I, through the silent years, remain 

And smile as others weep: 
Teaching tlie courage men may gain, 

Faith's amulet to keep! 



AUGUST AFTERNOON 

Like sullen face of mountain side 
Dark-visaged clouds of Summer lie 
Against the pale blue evening sky. 
Grim robed as they are wide. 

Unbroken calm forbodes the ill ; 
Wild frightened birds fly in alarm. 
As breaks the fury of the storm : 
Night falls, then all is still. 

A thousand stars bloom overhead, 
Night's chemistry will open quite 
A thousand daisies, gold and white. 
Before the east is red. 



56 



CYNTHIA'S GARDEN 

I 
Under pale blue skies, 
Sloping to the West 
Cynthia's garden lies, 
Like an isle of rest. 



Shut in by its wall. 
Every blossom fair 
Hears the Summer call. 

II 
Here the west winds linger 
Resting as it were. 
Mute with lip-touched finger, 
Listening for her. 

Rustling silk and shimmer 
Of leaves each tenant hears, 
Softer sunbeams glimmer 
As Cynthia appears. 

The tulip blushes deeper 
Than the reddest rose 
When tlieir dainty keeper 
Down the pathway goes. 

And the morning-glory, 
With its pensive look. 
Mutely tells love's story 
From its open book. 



57 



Ill 

The wild rose claDibers on this garden wall 
And looks with pity on the trees without; 
The hollyhocks that grow so wondrous tall 
Like sentinels survey the fields about 
And wonder how the flowers blooming there 
Contented are, outside this garden fair. 

And every breeze that sweeps the sun-kissed hills 
Lingers and loiters liereabout and waits, 
Like lotus eaters, whom some magic stills 
And satisfies, within these mystic gates : 
Waiting content witliin this soft retreat 
To hear the sound of Cynthia's blessed feet. 

IV 

It may be strange, I do not know, 
But I have like tlie blossoms grown; 
I've learned to love this garden so 
That all my precious hopes are sown 
About its walks and sylvan ways 
Where Cynthia sometimes strays. 

And, like the lotus eaters, I 
Within this garden am content 
To wait, where all the blossoms vie 
Each other's hues of ravishment : 
Content, if at the close of day, 
Fair Cvnthia comes this wav. 



58 



WEEP NOT FOR THOSE 

Weep not for those who die on glory's field, 

Who in the flush of ruddy manhood yield 

The gift of life. Time hath their sorrows healed. 

Weep not for her, whom death shall call away 
As Love and Romance beckon down the way, 
Lethean dreams for treasure lost will pay. 

Nor weep for him, who in a green old age, 
Finds sleep a welcome, paying all the wage 
Of life, without a stain upon its page. 

All these are safe and perfumed Memory keeps 
Watch o'er their tombs, with care that never sleeps, 
Dreaming their dreams, in silence, as she weeps. 

But strike, O Harp, thy keenest note of sighs 
For him who in the House of Folly dies. 
Where Lust and Shame must close his hopeless 
eyes. 

Strike, Harp of Sorrow, too thy lowest strings 
For him who shadows to the hearthstone brings 
And dies, as childhood's grief about him clinss. 



59 



HAS GONE THE SILENT WAY 

The 1110011 looks down on you and me 
And then for one in vain : 
Together, once, were passing three, 
But now she sees but twain. 

Alas! from out some sad-robed night. 
When busy day is done, 
The moon will cast her mellow light 
This way and find but one. 

And after some fair Junes have passed 
The moon will look this way : 
Of three who walked, behold the last 
Has gone the silent way. 



LONG LOST DAYS 

Like pale-faced nuns, whose features bear 
The trace of Love, before stern Duty closed 
Upon sweet life and penance interposed. 
Our long lost days of happy youth appear. 

They beckon from that other shore 
Where lotus blossoms ever swing and sway, 
Holding the captives, as a willing prey. 
While we, in jNIenvry, keep them ever more. 

A rift of sunshine after rain, 
A scent of lilacs in the waking Spring; 
Dear thoughts of long lost days will bring 
And waken all their glory (uice again. 

60 



JUNE 

Now come the clays between the Summer tide 
And Spring's fresh blooms ; the jocund month 

of all 
The merry twelve : when down the wooded side 
Of hedge and lane the feathered heralds call. 
Shy thrush and linnet and gay mocking-bird, 
Each sings a welcome to her majesty, 
The month of brides, when wedding bells are 

heard, 
Turning each grove to house of minstrelsy; 
Singing a soul into the green of every smiling tree. 

So sweet the odors from the meadows now^ ! 
So soft the sun rays on tlie hillside beam. 
That shadowy faces, witli their death-scarr'd 

brow, 
Lift in the woodways and unsmiling, dream; 
For feathered clioir and unseen lutes that play 
Within the shade have reached their world 

of pain 
And called them back, along the worldly way 
From which they went, scarr'd with the human 

stain 
Of sin : returning hence once more, to breathe 
sweet peace again. 



61 




'This tcoodcd lodge is full of sacred things/^ 



This wooded lodge is full of sacred things. 
Even the air is heavy with the smell 
Of heavenly Asphodels. This whirr of wings 
Belikes the place where Galmel's angels dwell : 
Who once has heard the choir that sings within 
This vine-closed clmrch, Avill hold its echoes 

sweet 
When he has passed beyond the haunts of sin 
And hears another song along a golden street, 
And hearing, feel old loves and new, within his 
bosom meet. 

And he who listens to the melody 
That whispers soft along the quivering air, 
Will hear faint echoes, making tender plea 
Of woodland Dryads that are guarding there 
The sweet June woods, echoes from distant 

shore 
Where recollection of forgotten Summer skies 
Beckon and hither call forever-more. 
To such as anxious look, through tear-stain'd 

eyes, 
Longing for taste of love again, whose mem'ry 
never dies. 



63 




" — Where every tree enshrines 
Within its soul a longing for the light." 



Come here, where Mght is over-fresh'd with 

sleep 
And Dawn peeps through the wet entangled 

vines : 
Listen! No sound, save where the dew drops 

keep 
Time's passing hour, and every tree enshrines 
Within its soul a longing for the light 
That present breaks upon these sleeping 

things : 
Then soft dissolves the odorous shades of 

night, 
While every bird its morning welcome sings 
To one rare day, about whose dawn, the scent of 
glory clings. 

Mark well the noon-tide: yonder fields of 

wheat 
Waving like swells of some Palm-coasted sea; 
The tasseled corn, that revels in the heat 
Is mecca now for every droning bee. 
Above the hills, above the meadows fair, 
The lazy clouds, enamored of the sky 
Float aimlessly, only awake to snare 
The golden sunbeams that are passing by 
And passing, kiss the shy sweet things that on the 
meadow lie. 



iJD 



When twilight spreads her added glory down 
Upon this joy-swept vista of repose 
Weird shades of Eden, field and forest crown, 
As softly yonder gates of twilight close. 
Each tenant of the meadoAvs and the wood 
Reluctant seeks the home-beguiling nest, 
Each one complaining that the darkness should 
End, for the while, its joy-engrossing quest : 
And then the June day softly weaves new glory in 
the West. 



WHEN WE SHALL MEET 

The day when Ave shall meet 
Long spent desire will blossom into flame, 
Old dreamings wake at whisper of your name 
And sacrifice its compensation claim, 

At coming of your feet. 

The day when Ave shall meet 
Full measured joy, somehow, aaIII come to me; 
Of all Avithin the gift of Destiny 
I shall not ask for more; the melody 

Of love will be complete. 



MAGDALENE 



Listen, the angels are calling, calling, 
Their tears for some poor sister are falling : 
Such tears of grief by immortals are shed 
Only when some lone, unfortunate head, 
Pressed by a crown, made of thorns so appalling, 
Dies on the Calvary where He has bled. 

See, yonder the world goes happily by, 
Lifting its head of self -righteousness high. 
Like Pharisees old, the better than thou. 
They pass, but to others no virtue allow: 
Contented with self they breathe not a sigh 
For her who is dead in oblivion now. 

II 

Within a tinselled room 

Gaudy and full of gloom. 
No mother's hand to soothe the weary brow, 
No father's look, with pity in it now. 
So young she died; with strangers all about 
To watch and weep as life went slowly out. 

The house was marked for sin 

And no one entered in 
Save they, who of her crimson world were part. 
No priest or prelate found it in his heart 
To minister within a house unclean. 
Where slept this Christ-forgiven Magdalene. 



67 



Ill 

I saw the lone procession pass 
That bore her to a pauper's grave 
And marveled one so young, alas, 
Could die, as dies the brave. 

The few who followed in the wake, 
Where gaudy cofifin led the way. 
Shed tears of grief for love's own sake, 
Few feel and weep as they 

Who walk the bitter ways of sin 
Like weeping Magdalene of old, 
For when the good Christ enters in 



Beside the grave no prelate stood 
The simple rights of death to read. 
No Pharisee, or righteous could 
Afford her cause to plead. 

They left her in a pauper's gTave, 
Where violets of purple grew. 
But Christ a royal welcome gave: 
She entered with the few. 



68 



APRIL 

Wheu dreary haze of winter days 
Lifts from the meadows, yet in gray, 
Somehow we then forget to pray 
And learn, instead, to praise. 

I look toward the sun-swept sky 
Through oaks arrayed in silver sheen, 
Where Spring has east her robes of green, 
To rest the weary watcher's eye. 

Down hill and slope the hawthorn woke. 
The dogwood spread her wealth of white; 
And lo! the alchemy of night 
Spring's well-worn fetters broke. 

:memory's gift 

The smiling, bright, sweet days, 
In which some fulsome joy made glad the soul, 
We mark with dear forget-me-nots of thought. 
Taking as hostage, Memory's toll 
To bless our cloud-swept ways. 

And if perchance there be 
The finger prints of Love's consoling hand 
Upon that day, which thrilled you into joy. 
Then will sweet Memory's gift so far expand 
To yield Elysium's key. 

But those sad days of grief. 
When Sorrow hung its ebon coat of woe 
About the soul, Fate helps us to forget; 
Only the gladness of the past we know. 
Its bloom and ripened sheaf. 

69 



, 








BH^"" f -fj ' *'■ 



NIGHT IN THE TROPICS 

I 

How still these waters are! 
No sandal-footed breeze to stir the dew-wet trees; 
A silence soft, as that a dreamer sees 
In slumber's realm, before the vision flees 

Through Fancy's gates ajar. 

Yon silver-crested moon, 
That rides the vastness of the peace-enamored night 
Tints every cloud with lacy rims of white 
And floods the bay with her mysterious light, 

And hither dark lagoon. 

The storm-god sleeps at ease! 
Not one green leaf the waiting silence bends. 
No sound above the sand-wrapped shore ascends, 
A dream awaking from the mist unbends, 

Like incense through the trees. 

What mystery is this 
That holds the mid-night with Lethean spell 
Of silence and no secret dares to tell? 
Guarding, in peace, with mute, sad lips so well 

Its sorrow and its bliss ! 

II 
Was that the whisper of some joy-swept leaf 
Of yonder trailing cypress vine, 
Or else the sound of over-flowing grief 
From this dirge-singing pine? 

71 



Only the dew drops from tlie chemist Night, 
Falling from leaf to leaf, like sands 
In tell-tale glass, that mark the steady flight 
Of Time through orient lands. 

Ill 

Ah ! there is a sound ! 
A weird, sweet lyric sound of waking bird, 
O'er-full of joy, of joy that must be heard, 
But soft and low, as when some fairy stirred, 

Above the sacred ground. 

Where lotus dwellers sing, 
They tell of echoes, that come sweet and low: 
So yonder notes rise wistfully and slow, 
Soothing, as when the sleepy southwinds blow 

And to the blossoms cling. 

YELLOAY JASMINE 

I 

Where the lonesome woodlands hold 

Nymplis and Dryads bold, 
And while blossoms yet are sleeping 

In the Winter's mold 
Yellow jasmine comes a-peeping 

Through tlie forests old. 

Long before the rosy Spring 

Teaches birds to sing. 
Like some propliet, true to duty 

Comes this yellow thing, 
Hanging out its lamps of beauty, 

Royal as a king. 



Round the oak and maple tree 

Jasmine, tenderly, 
Loves in solitude to twine; 

And in wanton glee 
Swings its lamps from every vine 

That the birds may see. 

And these lamps swing to and fro 

As the night winds blow: 
Nymphs and Dryads slip about, 

Parting as they go, 
Brush and bramble in and out 

Through the yellow glow. 

II 

Jasmine peeps on every side 

With a queenly pride, 
Hangs alK)ut the sturdy oak 

Like a trusting bride. 
Then there swings this lover's sign : 

"With thee I abide/' 

Yonder by the dark lagoon 

Where the mid-night moon 
Throws its mellow lover's light. 

Hear the west winds croon 
As the jasmine vines they smite 

To some magic tune. 



73 



Ill 

Ah, what mystery complete 

In these woods I meet; 
Ah, what silences abound 

In this wild retreat; 
Ah, what Sirens walk around 

On their noiseless feet. 

Teach me, yellow jasmine vine, 

Why this charm of thine? 
Why the forests love you so, 

By what mystic sign 
You the Springtime's coming know, 

Messenger of mine. 

LAND OF ^'SOMEWHERE" 

The land ''Somewhere," 

Ah must be fair, 

Surpassing fair! 
For it is safe from touch of human pain. 
Whose shores have never known the reddish stain 
Of crime, nor ever felt the curse's bane 

Of sin's despair. 

It must be far. 

Under some blessed star. 

Some undiscovered star. 
Along whose shores the lotus branches twine. 
Whose odors quicken, like old vintaged wine, 
Where melodies about the soul entwine 

And never jar. 



It must be, too, 

Though old, yet new, 

Like day-dawn, new 
As when the Night has wakened from his sleep 
And Dawn looks forth from out the Orient deep, 
The promise of another day to keep 

Silvered with dew. 

Under its skies 

Love never dies 

But ever vies 
With eons, as they take their dateless flight 
In pointing souls to new paths of delight 
And finding undreamed glory on each height 

In new disguise. 

Dear God, who knows 

A sad heart's woes, 

A dead heart's snows, 
Must there not lie, beyond its fitful day 
We here call life, with all its sliadows gray. 
This land "Somewhere,'' beyond despair, dismay? 

Whither man goes? 

Its far-off skies 

To human eyes 

Keep in disguise, 
And yet, sometimes among the summer trees, 
We catch faint glimpses of its sun-swept leas 
As one, who ship-wrecked, in the distance sees 

A sail arise. 



75 



THE PENALTY OF SIN 

I sinned and all the sunshine lost its light: 
The warm, soft world grew cold and chill, 
The sweet, old loves no longer brought a thrill 
And laughing childhood's voices all grew still : 
There swept upon my soul the dread of night. 

II 
'Tis true my hands bore not the crimson stain 
Of human blood, for no one had I slain 
And robbed of life, like yonder guilty Cain, 
But I had used a dagger, keener far, 
Than sharp edged steel and left a deeper scar 
Than swords can make. How poisoned cold words 
are! 

The sharpened point had cut her tender soul 
And left it bleeding; sutfering does not hold 
A keener edge than bitter words unfold. 

We soon forget the bleeding and the pain 
Which dagger thrusts inflict, but look in vain 
For healing of the wounds where scorn has slain. 

Ill 
With grief-drawn eyes, as one who softly cries, 
I sat alone, within my curtained gloom, 
Like one, though buried, looks about his tomb 
And prisoned there, is conscious while he dies. 

Upon my door, as from some fateful shore, 
A strange knock sounded ghostly, faint and slow, 
'Twas like a whisper, spoken clear, but low, 
Whose every tone some evil omen bore. 

76 



Then stepped within, Time's piinisher of sin, 
Tlie ghost Kemorse, he with tlie dreaded smile, 
Who brings new griefs, our sorrows to beguile, 
Unwelcomed most among the guests of men. 

'Tis he who knows where hidden sorrow flows; 
His joy to prick the scars of old regret, 
To keep unhealed what man cannot forget ; 
Each hidden sin this Master daily shows. 

Througli nights and days, like one who penance 

pays 
We dwelt together, grim Eemorse and I, 
Each day I felt 'twere better far to die. 
Than live with him through heavy-hearted days. 

At last, one day, as I had knelt to pray, 
Another knock upon my door was heard, 
And lo, there entered, speaking not a word. 
The spirit Peace, who came with me to stay. 

My piteous cry had reached his home on high 
And bringing sweet Forgiveness in his hand. 
He touched my brow, then I could understand 
Why grim Remorse departed witli a sigh. 

Wlio sins to-day must walk the bitter way. 
Must pay the price which watchful Fate demands, 
Yet he may walk, with clean and spotless hands, 
When he has learned in penitence to pray. 



77 



GUILTY SEA 



What awful glory speaks 

Where ocean's anger, pounding rock and shore, 
Like giant Fury, restless evermore — 
Wearing a frown no master ever wore : 
What toll this monster seeks! 

Are those league-scattered graves 
That lie upon his coral-covered sand — 
Stretching between his East and Western land. 
And those frail wrecks that dot the hidden strand 
Too few to ease his craves? 



Are not the widowed homes 
Lonesome enough your thirst for crime to pay. 
Where children pause, to weep amid their play 
And look for those so long you keep away, 
Beneath your crested domes? 

Ill 

Ah, guilty ocean, old, 

Your eyes are sleepless with unreckoned grief, 

Your restless fury brings no soul-relief 

For crimes you've done, upon each hidden reef: 

Your sruilt is half untold. 



78 



APPLE BLOSSOMS 
I 

Dear pale white blossoms overhead, sweet gift of 

God and Spring, 
Hiding among the fresh green leaves that closely 

round you cling, 
What picture of her laughing eyes to me you 

always bring! 

The musty scent of pale green blooms floats in the 

drowsy air, 
The sky, as seen through trembling leaves, seems 

far and very fair. 
Somehow my heart is tangled in the tresses of 

her hair. 

For where the orchard grasses grow so stately and 
so tall, 

Down where the rose vine runs along the moss- 
grown garden wall. 

Standing alone, together we, first heard Love's 
tender call. 

And still to-day the apple trees dream golden hours 

away, 
Lulled by far-off siren songs that unseen fingers 

play, 
And leaves me dreamer, all alone, where wistful 

memories play. 



79 



Come, Memory dear, and show to me 
From out the crowding years between 
The glory of the apple tree 
Through Love's dark lashes seen. 

Come, give me back this day to dream, 
Come, give me back the bluest skies 
Once more to see the tender gleam 
That filled her wistful eyes. 

The tardy years that sere the soul 
And turn the golden locks to gray 
May yet some compensation hold 
Along my Autumn way. 

For Fate may burn our castles fair, 
But Memory wakes each day to see 
Her face and glory of her hair: 
These Fate must leave to me. 

Ill 

It was a fitful April day like this 

Winds from the South each waking valley kissed. 

Each orchard tree was like a blossom pale 
Planted about us from some mystic vale. 

The far-off sky that o'er the garden bent 
Had all the blue, as if from Heaven sent. 



And every breeze that from the meadows crept 
Brought scented breath from where the Summer 
slept. 

The apple blossoms dreamiug overhead 

Heard all the words Love's tender whispers said. 

And droning bees, on honey seeking bent, 
Vied with us in the mission content. 

Love's words are few, the touch of trembling hand 
And tender looks he best can understand. 

And thus the silence of this April day 
Made clear for us Love's apple blossom way. 

IV 

The shy white clover scented all the air 

Tliat day when life to me seemed doubly fair 

And sunlight touched the ebon of her hair. 

The thrush, who sings of Summer and the sky 
Sang but of Love, and when I asked him why 
The thrush sang on, too glad to make reply. 

The crimson poppies, by the Fairies sent, 
Blushed deeper red, each by the breeze bent 
And smiled and swayed in happiest content. 

If there be heaven, fit for man's desire 

The soul can reach, beyond where men aspire, 

It must be where Love holds the soul afire. 



81 



V 

The years can leave their finger prints upon 
The placid brow and gray the auburn hair 
But where Love dwells that lieart the years will 

shun, 
They cannot leave their marks of carnage there. 

The years may bring their heart-ache and tlieir pain 
And mar tlie glory of our human day, 
But Memory comes to wash away each stain, 
This gift the years can never take away. 

VI 

The apple blossoms smile once more, blessed by the 

April rain, 
The crimson poppies bloom and blush along the 

wall again, 
The thrush is singing, as of old, but then he sung 

for twain. 

I sit where falls the twilight shade, the April day 

is done. 
The Spring, when Love shall weave his web for 

hearts, is just begun. 
The thrush is singing as before, but now he sings 

for one. 

Come, Memory, we shall sit alone, come closer, 

heart of mine. 
And hear from out the buried past Love's first clear 

note divine. 
Come, you and I shall worship here, upon Love's 

holy Shrine. 

82 



SAVOLINA. 

Where the fair Savannah river parts the meadows 

green and wide, 
Flowing eastward, seaward, onward to a waiting 

tide, 
There abides an old grav manor, set among the 

live oak trees, 
Holding visions of a past which faithful memory 

sees. 

Once they called it Savolina, by its faithful master 

uam'd. 
For the river and a daughter, both for beauty 

famed. 
Here for generations passing, stately, famous old 

and gray. 
It has kept the old South's glory to this later day. 

II 
In this olden home Volina lived and loved, nor 

questioned why 
All her youth was full of sunshine as it hastened 

by: 
Somehow birds were always singing for her in 

the sky. 

Down among the spreading willows by the lazy 

river's side. 
Where the wild forget-me-nots in sweet content 

abide. 
There she built her ships of conquest for the years 

untried. 

83 



Here her castles, tall and gilded, tilled a maiden's 

vision fair, 
Love bad painted all the pictures up the polished 

stair, 
Here she saw the glad years beckon through her 

golden hair. 

Ill 
The full sweet years of maidenhood for her bad 

swept along. 
Each waking in her tender heart a softer note of 



sure and strong. 

'Twas then the skies seemed nearer still than they 

had been before, 
The iris had a deeper hue along the river's shore: 
She drank the richer cup of joy from life's unfail- 
ing store. 

And he who came and saw and Avon, a prince in her 
glad eyes. 

Was worthy of her tender love, but oh ! how glad- 
ness flies: 

Alas! that youth should promise joy which heart- 
less Fate denies. 



84 



IV 

It was in the spring of sixty, when there dawned 

her wedding day, 
Volina at the alter knelt, love's Avilling debt to pay ; 
And then commenced the journey, leading up love's 

hallowed way. 

To her the world was like a dream in which all 

things were fair, 
She reached her hands for gladness and touched it 

everywhere ; 
Lo! sweet Content came at her call and joy w^as 

waiting near. 

V 

A single month of wedded bliss on golden wings 

had passed 
When sullen gun from Sumter's throat broke o'er 

the marshes vast 
And stunned a thousand trembling hearts like 

demon driven blast. 

The sage has told of shattered dreams, of ruined 

castles fair, 
Of hope that turned to bitterness and gladness to 

despair : 
All to Volina hastened when that tliunder rent 

the air. 



85 



For first of all to bear and heed the sound of 

Duty's call 
Was he who won her tender heart, on whom she 

staked her all : 
The golden wine which Love had brought was 

quickly turned to gall. 

VI 

All day long a battle lingered, twixt the blue and 

twixt the gray, 
Hundreds fell and on the crimson leaves of 

Autumn passed away. 
Hundreds moaned their last confession ere the 

closing of the day. 

By a clump of burnished Sumac, underneath 

October sky, 
There Volina's soldier lover heard the truth that 

he must die : 
Fate was cruel, but the hero never asks the reason 

why ! 

"Comrades, bend and let me whisper," lisped the 

soldier in his plight : 
"Tell Volina I am passing o'er the mystic stream 

to-night, 
That I'll wait beyond the river for her coming in 

the light." 



Holding close the goldeu locket, with her face aud 
knot of hair, 

Passed the hero in the twilight, brave aud young, 
so strong and fair. 

And his comrades left him dreaming by the bur- 
nished Sumac there. 

VII 

Where the fair Savannah loiters lazily toward 
the sea 

Autunm spread her crimson glory over valley, 
field and tree, 

But at Savolina-s doorway Sorrow knocked inces- 
santly. 

And Volina, angel-hearted, looked at life through 

tears and said: 
"Though my life is still before me all its promises 

are fled, 
Hence I walk among the living but I live among 

the dead." 

Wearily the years grew longer, Spring and Autumn 

glorified 
All the valley and the river, each her colors keenly 

vied: 
In the Spring Volina gladdened, in the Autumn 

time she cried. 



87 



Widowhood and Tonth and beauty pleaded that 

again she wed, 
But Volina, memory-haunted, wallved her road 

alone, instead, 
And to all her suitors' pleading tenderly to each 

she said: 

"Love, the Master, true and tender, steals away 

with keenest pain 
When we build another altar in the heart to him, 

again. 
All the years we there may worship will not wash 

away the stain." 




THE YOUTH SEEKERS— A LEGEND OF THE 
EAST COAST OF FLORIDA. 

The old story of Ponce De Leon's search for the 
fountain of eternal youth has always been full of 
romantic interest. The subject is worthy of an epic. 
Avhich will doubtless be written some day. 

There is a legend, threaded to the historic search of 
Ponce De Leon, which relates that the Indian chief. 
Sequoia, had. about this time, conquered all the near- 
by tribes and made his domain a powerful and exten- 
sive one, extending westward as far as the Mississippi 
River and from the mountains to the Everglades. 

According to the legend, soon after Sequoia had won 
his final victory and achieved real freedom, he started 
Southward to hunt big game and was made captive the 
following day by the Spaniards, who had just landed 
and were ready for the inland march. 

De Leon had heard that Sequoia knew where the 
fabled spring was located and made him prisoner — 
exacting from the chief a promise to act as guide, the 
reward for which service would be his ultimate free- 
dom. 

The cunning Indian, chafing under capture, prom- 
ised to guide De Leon to the famous spring, but in his 
heart he planned and finally accomplished the Span- 
iard's undoing. After leading them for weeks through 
the wildest of the wild country he finally escaped, but 
he did not leave until he had shot a poisoned arrow 
into De Leon's thigh, from which the old Spanish 
cavalier never recovered and from the etfect of which 
wound he finally died in Havana, whither he went, 
after his fruitless search was abandoned. 

The little prologues, at the beginning of each section, 
are intended to show how Hope waned in the hearts 
of the cavaliers as they slowl}' realized that their 
search for the fountain of eternal youth was hopeless 
and in vain. 



89 




THE YOUTH SEEKERS 

Part First. 

The Gift of Hope. 

When Peter wrote within his book 

The gifts prepared for men, 

From out a jewelled case he took 

God's gifts of Hope, where they had been 

For ages kept; too costly far, 

To place in angel breast: 

'Take these," said he, to each new star, 

'Fly fast, nor stop to rest 

Until you reach that human land 

Where mortals toil and spin, 

There give them, fresh from God's own hand, 

That they who strive may win," 



90 



Then looking dow.n to yonder sky, 
Each messenger made quick reply 
'Master of Gifts, we fly." 



The hand of Time had touched De Leon's hair, 
The reddish locks the years had turned to gray: 
He dreamed of youth and all its visions fair, 
What if the years would yet return the day 
When he was young and longed to do and dare. 
What if his youth once more would come to stay! 

Braving the wrath of undiscovered seas 
That border on the Spanish outer main. 
Waking from dreams, grim Neptune in his ease, 
Braving his storms and unrelenting rain, 
Three Spanish ships, built from Castilian trees 
Bent westward on in search of golden gain. 

The dead years kept a memory-haunted place, 
A far-off home, as through a purple veil, 
And Memory, looking backward, far, could trace 
Dim ships of hope, that through the distance sail 
About the hearthstone : but Ambition's race 
Must now be run, and brave hearts never quail. 

Through anxious days and nights of sullen gloom 
The daring barques were playthings of the deep; 
The untried seas portended wreck and doom: 
No days of peace, no nights of restful sleep 
Upon the wave-swept horizon would loom. 
When Fate and Destiny their vigils keep. 

91 



Sighting at last the shore line to the West, 
Low-crouching, like a Monster of the deep. 
The old Castilian's eye, adept in quest, 
Beheld the land his fount of youth must keep: 
Beheld the vales and valleys of the blest. 
Where he, the harvest of his dreams must reap. 

A sickle moon hung in the cloudless sky. 
Blessing the Palm trees with its mellow light 
And every breeze, from landward, passing by. 
Dispensed new perfume through the tropic night. 
De Leon smiled, then with impatient sigh 
Longed for to-morrow and to-morrow's sight. 

II 
If there's spot beneath the skies 
Als:in to fabled Paradise, 
'Twas that which met De Leon's eyes. 
If fount of youth be anywhere 
It must be in a land thus fair; 
The strength of youth was in the air. 

Ill 
Had famed Castile fair blossoms on her hills? 

Perhaps, but not like these; 
Dark Dryad shade o'erhung tlie Spanish rills 

But far unlike yon trees. 

The yellow fruit that vied the sunlight's gold, 

Beckoned each eager hand: 
Somehow the Palm trees mystic stories told 

In this enchanted land. 

92 



The gray mossVl live oaks thai begirt the sea, 

Though scarred and ages old, 
Waved welcome arms, unaged by destiny 

And cheered De Leon's soul. 

Ah land of sunshine where the warm sea lies 
And dreams through rainless days, 

Eternal youth should live beneath your skies. 
Where endless Summer stays ! 

IV 

Where the slow Matanzas River meets its welcome 

from the sea, 
Where strange mystery from Eden glorifies each 

blessed tree. 
There De Leon, hope inspired, knelt upon the 

shining sand 
And, beside the new cross planted, thus addressed 

the sun-kissed land : — 

"Hail shores, whose mystic woodlands hold 

Within some shaded glen, 
The spring, whose waters, flowing bold, 
Bring ruddy youth to men! 

"Perhaps this river, passing slow, 

Through marshes green and wide. 
Bears on its breast the overflow 
Of drops where life abide. 

"Yon vista of the golden West 

Behind the live oak's shade. 
Bends o'er the fountain of the blest 
Where youth from age is made. 

94 



"Througli all the eons of the past 

Time Conquers youth and might, 
Man yields to Fate and Death at last, 
Taking a chartless flight. 

"And all the wisdom man has learned 
Beneath the sun and sky, 
That most of all, for which he yearned 
Is missing; he must die. 

"But in yon waters flowing now 
Amid the tangled weeds. 
Is youth for every aging brow. 

New strength for all my needs. 

"When I have tasted of that stream 
And felt my youth again, 
Of what rich conquests I will dream, 
What glory win for Spain! 

"Hail, land of splendor, that distills 
Elixir for the soul, 
Here every step some new hope thrills, 
So near this long-sought goal." 

V 

That night beneath the weird Palmetto trees 

De Leon slept. 
In restless dreaming as when some one sees 

His vision swept 
By golden argosies that sail the main. 

Freighted with precious gain. 



95 



There in his dream, a phantom maiden's smile 

So tender, kind, 
Beckoned his eager sonl to haste tlie while 

Youth's spring to find, 
And finding, tlien feel Tonthful pulse once more, 

Restored for evermore. 

Slow breezes from the yellow orange groves 

Deepened his dreams 
And into all De Leon's fancy wove 

Sun-gilded beams; 
So, when he woke, within to-morrow fair 

Hope's welcome met him there. 

Part Second. 

The Angelas Return. 

There was a knock at Peter's gate : 
Without, an angel stood. 
Fresh from the human land of fate 
Where evil vies the good: 
"Master of Gifts, in yon unfavored land 
Where savage tribes can scarcely understand 
The gifts thou sent, I saw^ upon each face 
The smile which Hope, alone, can surely trace; 
And in each eye there beamed a light divine, 
There kindled by this w^ondrous gift of thine." 

Then Peter spoke, calling his angel in: 
"Welcome sweet message, from the land of 
sin." 

96 



I 
Sequoia, chief of many tribes, who dwelt 
Within the wonderland of palm and pine, 
Had conquered well and made his tliralldom felt 
From mountain ridge to yonder ocean line. 

Secure in peace, a longing for the chase 
Engrossed his soul : so climbing up the height 
Of near-by hill, with set and unmoved face. 
He spoke before the peaceful gates of night :— 

II 
"There lies the land and yonder sleeps the sea. 
To where the sun finds refuge in the West 
My lands extend, tlie South belongs to me. 
And all these coasts obey my stern behest. 

"For years my foes have goaded in tlieir might 
My people brave; but we have won at last. 
Now peace reigns, further than the furtherest 

sight : 
Through victory's eyes I view the stormy past. 

"There stands my wigwam by the lofty tree, 
And there my squaw, contented with her lot, 
Here are my people, happy, strong and free. 
And there my daughter, safe from cupid's plot. 

"Behold these forests, planted by the hand 
Of that great Spirit whom we all adore. 
Behold the rivers, threading all the land 
And seeking welcome from yon coral shore. 

97 




I 



'Adieu, my people, to the South I go, 
Seeking the game that thitherward abound, 
Freedom I've won from every hated foe, 
So now, with joy, Sequoia's heart is crowned." 

Ill 
Thus spoke the Indian, looking to the West, 
As wigwam smoke rose slowly to the sky, 
Then turning Southward, on his way of quest, 
Walked down a coast where tropic glories lie. 

The beach was smooth, unbending to his feet : 
Above, the stars shone patient still and far. 
Here sea and land, in splendor, seemed to meet 
And all the gates of 303^ were left ajar. 

A few short leagues, alone, he pushed his way 
In thoughtful silence, when a Spanish guard 
Halted his steps, a prisoner must obey 
De Leon's will. Ah Fate, thy ways are hard! 

IV 

From freedom to a prison yoke, 
From victory to chain of steel : 
What bitterness a day can yield, 
How soon a stubborn heart is broke! 

How vagrant cloud, in yonder sky, 
Plaything of every idle breeze. 
As from his cell, the prisoner sees, 
Is envied, as it wanders by ! 

99 



So grim Sequoia looked about 
His new-made prison house of gloom, 
Like one who lives within his tomb 
And chafes to tread the fields without. 



When stern De Leon looked upon the captive at 

his door, 
He grasped Sequoia's hand, as if the two had met 

before : 
Then looking far, toward the West, and pointing 

with his hand 
He spoke his wish in simple words the chief could 

understand : — 

"To us, brave chief, as captive you belong, 
But there is hidden in these wilds, among 
The trackless forests, somewhere, near or far, 
The spring of youth, whose healing waters are 
The goal we seek; come now, you guide our 

way. 
With liberty your aid we will repay ; 
And you shall drink of these strange waters, 

too. 
Whose virtues will your passing youth 

renew." 

The haughty chief unbent his hidden pride; 
With stern, cold face each feeling he could hide, 
Then to De Leon's wish he thus replied : — 



100 



"'Tis well, Great Pale Face, speak and I 
shall go : 
Upon this task mj cunning I'll bestow. 
Here is my bow and pipe ere we depart, 
Take them as faitlifnl tokens of my heart." 

But all the pent-up ire of thwarted plans 
Flamed as he looked upon his shackled hands; 
So when they bound him in a tent alone 
The chieftain uttered thus, in undertone: — 

"Yes, I will guide you where man never went 
before. 
Beyond the Everglades, 
And leave you lost upon that other shore, 
Amid its dismal shades. 

"Yes, I will guide you through the tangled 
waste of trees 
O'er swamps of ooze and slime, 
Where, in the maze of wilderness, one sees 
Earth's gloom in all its prime. 

"There I will leave you, in your prison-house 
of gloom, 
From which no roads depart. 
Amid dim shadows, like a living tomb. 
Where Dread will fill your heart." 



101 



Part Three. 

Second Angel's Return. 

The gates of pearl, which separate afar 
Yon world and this, were gently left ajar : 
Without, there stood a messenger of light, 
Whose face brought back a trace of human 

fright : 
"Great one," she said, "I've seen thy gift so 

tried 
That brave, strong men, like little children 

cried. 
And yet so long as trace of Hope remained, 
The weakest ones God's hidden treasures 

gained ; 
But, Master Mine, I dread the fate of him 
Who loses Hope amid those valleys dim." 

A shadow passed across th' unclouded sky, 
As, once in ages, some one heard a sigh : 
Then Peter spoke: "Sweet Pity bows her head 
For mortal soul, where gift of Hope is dead." 

I 
On many a field of battle brave De Leon's hand 

had fought, 
In many a sea storm's fury his frail ships had 

been caught. 
Long years of brave adventure had traced the lines 

of care 
Upon his face and left the marks of un-won 

vict'ries there. 

102 



Hopes long delayed made sick his heart, but some- 
how in his soul 

De Leon felt the star of hope would lead him to 
his goal; 

The fount of youth must soinewhere lie, within 
this wondrous land, 

But why his search, so fruitless seemed, he could 
not understand. 

The days grew into weary weeks and these to 

months of pain : 
The eyes that long had smiled in hope now wore 

a hopeless strain, 
Each haunting vision that appeared, above the 

woodlands dark, 
Quick disappeared and fanned away hope's last 

remaining spark. 

Sequoia's Indian cunning knew the wilds without 

a road. 
He knew the trackless paths that lie, where Awe 

has long abode: 
At last, by artful windings, he led his captors far 
Into this swamp, Avhere gloom and dread man's 

onward footsteps bar. 



103 



II 
Here are the wikLs which God intend 

That man shonld never see, 
Shades dim and dark like guarded page 

From Book of Destiny. 
The live oaks' glossy leaves hold well 

The sunlight's outer ray, 
Garnering all the golden light 

That fills a tropic day. 
Vines, tangled vines, in festoons Imng 

Beneath the live oak's arms, 
Safe from intrusion of the light 

And oft recurrent storms. 

Beneath the vines tlic- wild reeds grow 

Slender and thick and tall. 
Pale in that shadowy world below 

Where sun rays never fall ; 
Here twilight dim and sliadows dark 

Enshroud a world of gloom. 
Fit for the hiding place of crime. 

Or, for a lost soul's tomb. 
Each shaded niche becomes the place 

Where creeping phantoms hide, 
While yonder slimy aisle is where 

Weird, grinning gnomes abide. 



105 



1 



Eternal Gloom is master here, 

Ruling with tireless hand, 
Shielding his spirits. Awe and Dread, 

In this their favored land. 
And Crime, afraid of day and light. 

Slinks here to find repose: 
The Evils that once lived in men 

Can here recount their woes. 
Fear takes the shape of hideousness 

In yonder darkest glade, 
Weird shapes from out the long ago 

Here fellowship have made; 
The pain that follows souls in death 

Whispers among the trees. 
And groans from wrecks upon the main 

Echo in every breeze. 

Eternal Silence revels here, 

Safe from the wistful day, 
While Fear and Dread both rule alike 

With undisputed sway. 

Ill 
Luminous stars, in tropic skies, more kind to day 

than night, 
Watching above the waste of marsh, where man 

had never been. 
Looked down upon De Leon's braves, now left in 

desperate plight, 
And saw Fate play his faultless game, who never 

fails to win. 



106 



The treeless waste of marsh and grass spread far 

as one could see: 
Behind, the SAvamp, stood as a wall, tliru which 

they just had gone: 
De Leon gazed, with aimless face, no seeker now 

was he. 
The eyes that erstwhile beamed with liope, with 

grim defeat now shone. 

That night, beside a sunken mound, where marsh 

and woodland meet, 
De Leon walked alone in gloom, distrust upon his 

brow, 
A sickle moon was in the West, as when lie manned 

his fleet. 
But that which urged his spirit then, was stranger 

to him now. 

The proud Sequoia had escaped and crouching 

thru the wood, 
Marked well the spot, beside the mound, where 

worn De Leon stood; 
Then aiming well, his arrow flew, it pierced the 

Spaniard's thigh, 
As sweet revenge, for injured pride, shone in 

Sequoia's eye. 



101 



IV 

"Take that, proud man, with all the poison it 

can give : 

Take that and die; bnt if you chance to live, 

An unhealed wound will follow to your grave : 

Reminder that you made Sequoia once your 

slave." 

Part Four. 

Third Angel's IIeturx. 

The jasper gate in Eden's wall, 
Where fancy-laden sunbeams fall. 
Opened upon its hinges old 
To welcome one Avithin the fold. 
The angel cast a tear-stained eye 
About, and shivered Avith a sigh, 
Then to Saint Peter made reply: — 
"I pray, O Master, send me not again 
With gifts to yonder world of human pain. 
To-da}'', within a lowly cot of white, 
I saw one soul begin its homeward flight 
Where Hope Avas lost; and. Goodly Master, I 
Ne'er yet have seen such gloom in mortal eye ; 
I shudder now, though safe within the gates, 
When Mem'ry's page that dismal scene 
relates." 

Then to his angels good Saint Peter said : — 
"All gifts bestowed upon the souls that plod 
In mortal Avorld, Avhere good and sin are wed, 
The gift of Hope is nearest kin to God." 

108 



I 

Tlie dream had wasted, Fate would liave her 

way; 
The quest was over, Fancy's vision fled; 
De Leon woke, Ambition's debt to pay 
And saw Death waiting- there beside his bed. 

Sequoia's dart had filled its mission well; 
The slimy marsh had breathed its deadly air, 
And from the day the old Castilian fell. 
His soul became the plaything of Despair. 

He reckoned well a truce with Death and Fate, 
Ambition came to bid a last good-bye — 
The busy Past its stories would relate, 
While Fancy looked upon him with a sigh. 

Through all the years a dreamer he had been, 
Reaching for gifts denied the soul of man, 
Thwarted, the warrior rested now serene : 
That man must die, he now could understand. 

II 
Across the room, where lights burned low. amid 

the shadows dim, 
De Leon cast a wistful look at those who watched 

with him; 
The fitful journey of his life at last was near its 

end, 
And now he felt the iron will in meek submission 

bend, 
And ere he passed, in feeble voice, this message 

he would send : — 

109 



"List, comrades, tempt not heartless Fate, who, 

somehow, always wins. 
And recompense she meets in full to every one who 

sins; 
The glad, sweet years were not enough to satisfy 

my soul, 
Hence now before my end should be, grim Death 

exacts his toll. 
The fabled spring I longed to reach Fate guards 

from human eye, 
Thus, for intrusion's sin, I must, far from my 

hearthstone die." 

Ill 
The good, white sisters moved about tlie room 

where Phantoms wait. 
Within the stillness Death bestows, alike on mean 

and great: 
They softly smoothed the .furrows from a face 

where Hope had died— 
While just without De Leou's braves in muffled 

silence cried. 

At Last. 

The Eastern gate, by good St. Peter kept. 

Swung on its golden bar, 
As one more Soul between the portals swept — 

One who had traveled far; 
And when he saw this city, wonder-wrought, 

Green-clad in blooms of truth, 
The Pilgrim found the land he long had sought, 

Where flowed the fount of youth. 

110 



DEC 18 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



